


A Savage Place

by GretchenSinister



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Sandy is a cis woman here, look this is a bit of a weird one be careful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister
Summary: Original Prompt: "Not going to lie. I was browsing wikipedia and wound up on the page for 'orgasm'.But the picture they have on that page is called "Frenzy of Exultations" by Władysław Podkowiński.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Podkowi%C5%84ski-Sza%C5%82_uniesie%C5%84-MNK.jpgAnd it looks like a naked, female Sandy.On the back of one of Pitch's Nightmares.Doing.... something.On the wiki page for orgasm.I desperately, desperately want to see something, anything that includes Fem!Sandy on or near Pitch's Nightmares being a sexy, sassy lady. It doesn't have to be outright bestiality (would actually prefer if it wasn't), but I would love if it was deeply sensual, even if there is no smut.Please and thank you! <3"Sandy gets Pitch's attention in an unconventional way, relying on the knowledge that his and her sand constructs are technically part of their bodies.
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Blacksand Short Fics





	A Savage Place

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend checking out the painting.
> 
> Originally posted to Round 3 of the Rise of the Guardians Dreamwidth kinkmeme on 3/25/2013.

The Sandmaid catches the nightmare in a small wood on the outskirts of a little town. It’s lingering around a shallow pond, probably making anyone who goes near it think of kelpies dragging them down, rather than the remnants of meth-making chemicals that really make it dangerous.  
  
She smiles. It looks like Pitch is finally getting the idea of what he should be doing again.  
  
Good. They’ve been enemies for far too long. It was much more fun when they were both on the side of strangeness rather than setting themselves up as opposites of each other. Do the Guardians even remember that? She wonders. _Well, they’re about to find out,_ she thinks, laughing silently. _Let’s make the world weird again, shall we, Pitch? Fill the air with angels and aliens once more, instead of clouds and missiles._  
  
But then again, maybe Pitch doesn’t understand what he’s doing. Maybe he’s just operating on instinct now. He wasn’t exactly sane last Easter, after all—but what did he expect was going to happen when he separated himself from her? She purses her lips. She’s got to talk to him face to face, but she doesn’t know where the entrance to his lair is now.  
  
She grins suddenly. If she can’t come to Pitch, she’ll make him come to her. It’s not as if a few centuries apart have erased a few thousand years of her knowing how to get his attention.  
  
She alights on the ground, dimming her glow and walking slowly toward the nightmare so as not to startle it. It looks at her curiously, not sure what to make of such an utterly fearless being, but stays put.  
  
At last, she is close enough to pet its velvety nose, though she has to float on her dreamsand cloud again to do so. The beast’s eyelids droop in relaxation.  
  
Does Pitch notice that? She can’t be sure. It all depends on how many nightmares he has out roaming in the darkness. The other Guardians don’t know this, but the bodies of Sandmaid and Pitch are not strictly contained within their humanoid forms. Their dreamsand and nightmaresand are part of them as well: they are protean, they may be multitudes. What is more, they can feel when someone touches their sands. Sandmaid smirks. Pitch would have tried much harder to kill Jack if he had known how often the boy had run his fingers through the strands of dreamsand meant only to touch human minds.  
  
She rubs her cheek against the cheek of the nightmare. There’s no sign of Pitch yet, but there will be, before she’s through. She presses her lips lightly to its nose, then floats over to its neck. She twines her hands in its silky mane, burying her face in the soft darkness. She combs the hair with her fingers, scratching the nightmare’s neck as she does so. Occasionally she even tugs slightly at the mane, as she would do with Pitch’s own hair if he were here.  
  
The nightmare snorts and twists its head from side to side, as if it isn’t quite sure what’s going on. She strokes its neck to soothe it, a smile returning to her face as she feels the satiny short hair under her hands. No one would guess that a nightmare felt like this just by looking at it, and she’s always been pleased to be one of the very few who know the truth.  
  
She realizes there’s no reason for her to restrict such a texture to her hands and face, and lets her nightgown dissolve in a burst of golden sand. She straddles the back of the nightmare, letting herself focus entirely on the delicious feeling of solid muscle overlain with perfect softness touching every inch of her wide-spread ample thighs. It reminds her of games she and Pitch used to play, size-shifting games where she always begged for more just a little longer than he thought she would.  
  
The memories are pleasant ones, and Sandmaid hopes Pitch can feel the growing heat and wetness at her center via the back of his nightmare. _Oh, if only he were here right now,_ she thinks as loud as she can. It won’t be long now, she knows.  
  
She strokes her little feet against the smooth flanks of the nightmare, curling her toes into the soft hair, something else she knows will get his attention, no matter how he refuses to admit it. _Better your lips than mere horsehair,_ she thinks, wondering if Pitch is close enough to hear by now.  
  
She tugs on the nightmare’s mane and shifts herself forward, relishing the friction. It feels so good that she does it a few more times, before suddenly being overcome with a fit of silent giggles. There is absolutely no way she could explain what she’s doing to any of the other Guardians, and here she is, right out in the open!  
  
Well, they already think she’s kind of weird. Might as well keep going. She leans forward, pressing her full breasts and soft belly against the neck of the nightmare. She rests her head against its neck as well, letting her long golden hair fall away from her back to mingle with its mane. Ah, how it recalls nights when she wished Pitch to be rough with her, yet he could not resist placing some rug of soft thick fur beneath her! Her nightmare lover, how she longed for him, how she longs for him! Let this be that savage place the opium-dreaming Samuel spoke of, “As holy and enchanted/As e’er beneath the waning moon was haunted/By woman wailing for her Demon Lover!”, and let that demon lover appear! She rubs herself against the back of the nightmare again, reaching down between it and her delicate golden curls to try and find relief, but she wants his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and oh she hopes he can see her now, he enjoys seeing her like this she knows, but after so long he should not be able to restrain himself, she does not want him to restrain himself.  
  
She is close, ever so close, between her fingers and this creature that is almost Pitch but not the Pitch she wants spreading her legs, and suddenly, she knows _he_ is there, but she will not be distracted right now.  
  
“Sandmaid?” His deep voice is husky, astonished—she can feel his breath on her ear, and that is all it takes to send her over the edge, catching glimpses of the Nightmare King between her fluttering eyelids, letting her back arch and her plump lips fall open.  
  
After a several moments, she composes herself enough to move to sit sideways on the nightmare, facing Pitch in brazen nakedness. _Hello, Pitch,_ she thinks. _I wanted to talk to you._  
  
“To _talk_?” He blinks his gold-gray eyes at her, as if he can’t believe any of this is happening.  
  
A grin spreads slowly across her face as she pulls him closer with a few tendrils of dreamsand. _Among other things_ , she admits, wrapping her legs around his slender waist and drawing him down into a deep, slow kiss, carefully running her fingers over his cheekbones, his jawline. _Do you object, Pitch? I’m very tired of remaining silent, you know. I want you to make me scream your name._  
  
He pulls back, breathless, pupils blown, and from her own light Sandmaid can see the already considerable bulge in his pants. “I am all too glad to oblige,” he says.  
  
She smiles, lets herself be enfolded within his arms, and with an eyeblink’s worth of darkness, they are back within the nightmare realms, falling onto the one bed Pitch need not stay under, ready to once again explore all the joys that must remain hidden even from the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Dreamwidth endnote: You ever start writing a fill, and then suddenly think, "wait, what am I writing?" Well, I hope this was the sort of thing you had in mind. Three glasses of wine, and even though I was the one thanking Dreamwidth for anonymous comments, I'm going to still sign this. As if the reference to Kubla Khan didn't do that already. --GS, adding Romantic poetry to your blacksand since 2012.


End file.
